RELUCTANT PRESS

"I'll be wearing this with my new blue high heels. Be an extra dear and slip them on; I want to see how they look." "They are a little tight," I said, as I struggled to get them

on.

"Dear, you know they would go on a lot more easily if you wore a pair of my stockings. Here, slip these on," producing a pair of her nylons; were there nylons in 1938? I'm not sure but they felt like nylons, "and do them up at the suspenders too, or they will flop about your ankles in the most slatternly way."

By this time, I had got some of my breath back, if not to say poise and was able to come out with something mildly facetious like, "Coo, ooh-er, tee hee!"

Characters in comics spoke like that although I do confess, I have hardly ever heard anyone come with interjections quite like that in real life. I only do it when I'm trying to raise a smile or cover up a slight embarrassment.

By this time, of course, I had lost most of my shyness, due, I suppose, to Mom's acceptance that this was a completely natural thing to do, as if I wore woman's clothes every day of my life!

Stockinged, I now slipped the shoes on with perfect ease. "It still needs a little taking in here... and here as well," she said with professional absorption. "Now walk towards me, dear, I want to see if it rides up at the knees. No, I think that's all right. You can take it off now but keep those undies on because I'll be needing you again in twenty minutes. You can put my gown on in the meantime while you go on with your MAGNET. I don't think I could have had a better model and you are an absolute love."

I returned to my comic book with its 'coos' and 'ooh ers'. After fifteen minutes, Mom stood up.

"Okay, off with that gown and you can have your last... .no, MY last, isn't it, fitting." The dress was duly refitted, zipped up and belted. "Walk up and down in it... yes, that looks absolutely super. You know, I'd adore to take you out like that; you look so like a young lady."

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JOYCE'S GIRLS

BY JOYCE

"You'll have me arrested, you will," I replied with some confidence.

"I'm going to do one more thing to you. Now sit down there and don't you dare make a fuss. I'm going to try a wee bit of my make-up on you, just to see how you look. Come on, over here, in the light.

She proceeded to work on my face for about five minutes. "There." she said enthusiastically, "now just look at yourself in the mirror."

In that five minutes, she had applied base, rouge, eye shadow, face powder and lipstick. She fished out a pair of blue earrings and a necklace as well.

"You look SO sophisticated like that." (I think she purposely avoided saying 'girlish' just in case she thought I might tear everything off in a frenzy of 'masculine' embarrassment; but, dear reader, I was thrilling and trilling like only you can possibly guess!) "Now, if only we had a wig for you." Just then there was a ring at the door. "Oh my God," I said, panicking, "no one must see me like this!"

"Oh, darling, do stop being a silly goose. There is no need to get into a tizzy; I'll go to the door so just you sit there and NOTHING horrid is going to happen to you; you can rely on my judgment for that so don't be a baby."

She gave me a kiss and went to the door.

"Dahling," shrilled Doreen, "it's positively pissing down outside, You owe me at LEAST two drinks for walking ALL the way over here!" (It wasn't 'pissing' down at all, only drizzling, but Doreen was like that most of what she said was exclaimed in the superlative degree.)

"You poor drowned dear," said Mom, reciprocating Doreen's verbal extravagances, "come in, come in. Now you go into the sewing room and I'll go and pour our drinks. And when you go in there, ARE YOU going to get the surprise of your life; I've made a little change that I've been wanting to do for ever such a long time!"

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